“I assumed he did hate me.” I shrugged. “We didn’t exactly leave things on good terms. We went from talking every single day for ten years to radio silence. I guess he’d already caught up with Bryan or something, because Bryan had saved him a seat at our table.”
Whit’s eyes still bugged out, and it was clear she wanted to hear more.
I took a breath. “He didnotlike Brock. That was clear. We had these little conversation cards, and it was like he was using them to test how well Brock knew me. I mean, it’s not like it was a very fair contest,” I continued. “Cade has ten years’ knowledge of my life, all my little preferences. I don’t expect Brock to know every detail like that. We’ve got time to learn those things.”
“Sure,” Whit agreed companionably.
“But after dinner I went to the restroom, and Cade stopped me on the way back and asked me to dance.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I nodded, still feeling a bit shell shocked from the whole turn of events. “I don’t know, Whit. I... felt things. Things I haven’t felt in a long time. Things I didn’t know I could still feel. He stirred me up inside. You know? It’s like he can crawl under my skin and see beneath the surface. I can’t hide from him. Do you think it’s a sign?”
“A sign of what?”
I met her eyes, suddenly feeling that under-the-microscope nervous feeling. I began to trace the edges of my cuticles, a nervous habit. I dropped my gaze back to my lap and gave voice to something I’d been afraid to say out loud since Brock’s unexpected proposal.
“That Brock and I aren’t a good match.”
My shoulders slumped. I bit my lip and stared at my fingernails. Was I theworstgirlfriend—fiancée, I reminded myself—in the world? How could I possibly be asking myself these things after one slow dance?
“I can’t read your heart, babe. Only you really know how good Brock is for you. And from what you’ve told me about Cade... I mean, he’s known you forever. You guys were best friends for a decade. I’m sure he knows things about you that I don’t even know. It’s always going to be hard for anyone to measure up to that.”
I continued to chew my lip. “I don’t even think he wants me in that way. Not anymore, at least. I’ve definitely changed a bit, physically, since high school.”
“Cade? First of all, that man is obsessed with you. I can tell. Second—so what if he’s not? You need to be happy being you. Someone will pick you, Brooke, whether it’s Brock or some other awesome guy. You're worth picking.”
“Even with?—?”
“As you are, with all you bring to the table. Unequivocally, yes.”
Whit had a way of saying things with finality, leaving no room for argument. She’d have made a great lawyer.
Unable to respond, tears welling in my eyes, I leaned toward Whit on the couch, threw my arms around her, and wrapped her in a hug. Before I knew it, I was sobbing, releasing a well of emotions that had bubbled up within me the last five years. Myparents’ divorce, Cade leaving, moving to Boston, my diagnosis, my physical struggles at work—the floodgates opened, and it all poured out in a sea of salty tears. Whit held me until the sobs subsided.
She pulled back and met my eyes, checking her watch. “I’ve got about four hours until work. No more overthinking. Only decision today—How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, orSweet Home Alabama?”
I wiped my face and smiled. “Both?”
7
CADE
The emptiness I’d felt when I left Birch Hollow after high school seemed to grow tenfold in the weeks after I returned to my life in southern California. I went through the motions—grocery shopping, pay the rent and cable, shifts at the firehouse. The whole time I felt like my chest was in a vise, like I had permanent heartburn.
I thought maybe I’d feel cocky seeing her again. I was more in shape, more tan, more grown up than ever. Maybe she’d see what she’d been missing, feel an underlying attraction to the boy she’d rejected. Or maybe everything would be water under the bridge, and we’d talk and laugh like old times, the wounds dulled from our years apart. I didn’t expect to feel such a wave of powerful emotions—protectiveness, anger, shame, frustration, loss. Each one felt like a punch in the gut.
I replayed the night, wishing I could will it into a different outcome. God, I’d acted like an idiot.
One night I got on my computer and logged into Facebook. Stephanie, the former class president, had posted an album full of reunion photos, and she had tagged various members of our class. I couldn’t stop my fingers from clicking through them.My heart beat wildly in my chest when I came across one with low lighting—two bodies on the dance floor, the guy staring as the girl laughed, their arms around one another. It was me and Brooke.How had I made her laugh?I couldn’t remember. I quickly saved the photo to my desktop, knowing I’d return to it many times to savor the memory of her in my arms. I could still feel the ghost of her touch on my shoulder.
I navigated to Brooke’s profile. She had just a few public photos. Her current profile picture was of her and Brock, dressed up for a date. I zoomed in on her smile.She looked happy, but was she?The next one was a selfie of her with a girl around the same age. They were in pjs and had some kind of green goop on their faces. The other girl had hair a mix of brown and blonde, piled on top of her head in a kind of messy knot. Wispy bangs hung down nearly to her eyes. I scrolled to see another picture of Brooke with a dog—looked like a gorgeous red golden retriever. Her smile was definitely genuine in that one, her arm slung affectionately around the dog’s neck. I stared at those pictures until they were burned into my brain.
Still, I couldn’t get myself to push “Add Friend.”
She’d made her choice, after all. Twice, now. She clearly didn’t want me in her life, and trying to insert myself would only lead to even more heartache on my end, and possibly complications in her relationship, which was the last thing I wanted. Despite my behavior at the reunion, I wasn’t the kind of guy who would try to break up a relationship.
On the other hand... I missed her. God, but I missed her. Seeing her at the reunion had only increased the longing I had to have her back in my life. Even my dreams were haunted by her smile, her laugh, those big brown eyes. Running through a field, jumping into the swimming hole hand in hand, watching movies in the basement, bandaging her scraped-up knee—the memories played like a nonstop movie montage, clip after clipin random sequence. I couldn’t escape. Nor could I escape the niggling feeling that told me she needed out of that relationship—that she still needed protecting. That she needed... me. At least as a friend.
